Karma
Karma
Ruserik was the spokesman and agent of the Noble Council.
That didn't make him some hugely important figure. He regarded himself as little more than a walking letter, and the nobles of the council regarded him the same way.
If there was a difference from ordinary spokesmen, it was that he was a very fine letter who knew how to satisfy both sender and recipient. And that this letter had one designated owner—the only person who could use it.
It might not have been much, but Ruserik took pride in his profession based on that fact and worked diligently.
"Since the opportunity seems to have presented itself, go invite him and bring him here."
That was, until just moments ago.
"If I have committed some error, I beg you to grant me just one chance, Your Excellency."
A letter only delivers its contents; it does not think. Whatever the content might be, it goes forthrightly and conveys the Noble Council's words without any personal opinion. Even if it harbors personal dissatisfaction or regret about the letter's content, it shows nothing outwardly.
But suicide was a somewhat different matter. Even if the one uttering those words was a power broker of the Noble Council and one of only two dukes in the kingdom.
"What disheartening talk is this? Your handling of affairs has always been satisfactory. If you ask me to weigh you against certain imbeciles gnawing at the Noble Council, I would choose you without hesitation."
The old man with the monocle turned from gazing out the window and smiled as if surprised, but Ruserik couldn't help but contemplate his intent once more.
Duke Lesrom Zrasil Tusin Rawinera.
The core of the Noble Council, an old, deep-rooted tree of a man whose erect posture even past seventy made the traces of time hard to find, was always ambiguous about the boundary between jest and earnestness.
"Don't be so guarded. He's a man you can talk to. You know as well as I why he's kicking up such a fuss, don't you?"
"I know it all too well, which is precisely why I'm afraid."
Certainly, Margrave of Levien was under temporary detention.
Even if she truly had plotted treason, no trial had yet been held, and the evidence was not yet certain. Calling her a criminal now was an insult. This was a fact known not just to knights but to anyone in noble society who served alongside such figures. And that such insults could be followed by bloodshed.
It was true that the Noble Council had nothing to say, even if they had ten mouths, about this unprecedented situation caused by that awareness having diminished so badly among private soldiers whose quality had inevitably declined over seven years of war.
As a spokesman and agent, it wasn't the situation gone to shit that he feared. During his ten years serving as Duke Lesrom's spokesman, such situations had always existed.
The crux was that, using it as pretext, the other party had truly beheaded twenty men without a moment's hesitation, no less. Even if it was just and lawful, he had drawn his sword against the entire Noble Council itself.
He wasn't some fairy-tale hero. How many among the knights currently in the capital could even do such a thing? It was only his conjecture, but there would be no more than could be counted on one hand.
Duke Lesrom, having accurately read Ruserik's anxiety from just a single word, burst into a hearty laugh and gave a definite answer.
"Don't worry. Even after killing that many, he still hasn't gone up to the second floor, has he? That's because if he went up, he fears Margrave of Levien might be falsely accused of attempting escape. He never swings his sword without pretext. And you will be able to bring him back safely."
Duke Lesrom didn't speak of things he didn't know as if he knew them. Therefore, Ruserik believed that what he spoke with certainty were conclusions inferred from solid information.
Though he had no way of knowing where that information came from or why the duke had been keeping such a close eye on this man whom few even knew of before his visit to the Empire, such trivial details mattered not at all to Ruserik.
"Then I shall bring him."
After all, he was ultimately just a letter.
◈
Come to think of it, back on Earth I'd lived with a cigarette perpetually in my mouth.
I'd smoked the cigarettes easily found at convenience stores too, but what I enjoyed smoking was loose-leaf tobacco sold in very few places. Though troublesome to manage, the nicotine worked just the same, and the taste and aroma were incomparable, so it was well worth the effort of going out of my way to buy it.
It was probably just as bad for the body, but in a life where it felt like I'd die of stress before lung cancer ever got me, I didn't much care. Because in the moments I smoked those cigarettes, I could be utterly immersed in the feeling of taking a genuine rest.
Maybe it was because those memories lingered, but right now I was really craving a smoke.
Which meant, I was stressed.
It was fine to rampage legally, but fuck, I hadn't anticipated such ignorance being this rampant.
"A truly tiresome world, I swear."
A whole twenty men. Twenty bastards who, not knowing the law, swung spears and blades first without warning and died for it. And that was the count excluding the prison guards I killed first. Ragnis, up above, was probably going crazy with curiosity about what the hell all the ruckus was about.
If I went up without following due procedure, they'd inevitably pin treason or whatever on me, so all I could do was wait it out down here and pray that this time someone who could actually hold a conversation would show up.
I'd even considered yelling up to communicate, but there were too many gawkers right now, and I figured it was better to hold off for Ragnis's dignity's sake.
"Make way! The Noble Council! This is not a spectacle, so all of you, move aside!"
In a world where even public executions were treated as entertainment, weren't twenty-four headless corpses actually quite a spectacle? I could see someone approaching from afar, so as I started loosening my wrists and ankles in preparation, a man who looked like a desk worker—the only one not wearing armor—emerged, leading about ten private soldiers.
"I am called Ruserik, one of the spokesmen and agents of the Noble Council. Sir Eldmia Ega. Could you sheathe your sword for a moment so we might talk?"
The man with neatly trimmed dark reddish-brown hair looked to be middle-aged, yet he showed no hesitation at all in bowing respectfully toward me.
Feeling grateful that he'd come just when I was getting sick of unilaterally mass-producing headless corpses and wanting to stop, I asked him the same thing I'd asked those twenty imbeciles.
"Do you happen to know the law?"
This was already the fifth time I'd asked this question. As if my earnest prayers that someone would finally get it this time had worked, the man nodded and answered.
"Of course. I have been briefed on the situation and know that your actions were justified. I have come on behalf of the Noble Council to apologize for the soldiers' rudeness and to convey the order granting you visitation with Margrave of Levien, who is under temporary detention."
As he answered with a gesture, the ten soldiers displayed discipline clearly different from the ones I'd cut down so far and focused on dispersing the surrounding people.
"And separate from that, I also wish to convey an invitation for you to the Noble Council."
"Isn't the word 'invitation' rather ill-fitting in this situation, Sir Ruserik?"
In the middle of this shitshow, what would the Noble Council try to pull if I crawled in there...
"Simply calling me Ruserik will suffice. It is as you say, but the invitation is from His Excellency Duke Lesrom Zrasil Tusin Rawinera. I must ask you to believe that no one can do you harm, and that His Excellency likewise has absolutely no intention of harming Sir Ega."
...Guess I have no choice but to go.
"His Excellency... the Duke?"
"Yes. He said so himself. Of course, this is after you have finished your business with Margrave of Levien."
I distinctly remembered there were exactly two dukes in the kingdom—one old, one young—and one of them was looking for me. I really am a remarkable bastard, aren't I.
Well, I'd already met an imperial princess and come back; what the hell was a mere duke.
"Fine."
Since I'd only been waiting for formality's sake anyway, I roughly wiped the blood drenching my sword on a corpse's clothing, sheathed it, and went straight up to the second floor. From behind me, I immediately heard the man called Ruserik giving orders to the soldiers to clean up the surroundings, so it seemed he didn't have other urgent business either.
And as expected, among the sparsely laid-out rooms on the second floor—just two or three—I knocked on the only closed door and opened it.
"Things went to shit downstairs, so don't go down."
Ragnis, sitting in a solitary cell with only a small window letting in light and a bed, answered with incredulity.
"You cause this mess and that's what comes out of your mouth?"
It had been so noisy that she'd apparently grasped what was happening in real time.
"A mess, she says. I fought a commoner who called a non-criminal noble a criminal, only after multiple warnings and cautions went unheeded. Their side admitted it too."
"Their side? The Noble Council? People from the Noble Council came here directly?"
"Yeah. A guy named Ruserik came. A spokesman, or something?"
There wasn't even a single chair for a guest to sit on in the room, so Ragnis's gaze, looking at me leaning crookedly against the open doorframe with my arms crossed, was clearly dissatisfied.
"If it's Ruserik, he's Duke Lesrom's direct agent. Duke Lesrom is the head of a faction."
"He already invited me to meet him, so it looks like I'll have to go right after we finish talking."
"...Haah. I don't even have the energy to be surprised anymore. How are you so calm..."
"What's there to be surprised about? I already went to the Empire and met an imperial princess. Can't exactly flinch before a duke now."
Ragnis, looking as though she was forcibly suppressing a powerful urge to tear her hair out, rubbed her face once and began staring at the floor with a tired expression.
"Whatever happens at the Noble Council, don't draw your sword."
"I'll only draw it if my life's in danger."
"That's a given."
Believing she was merely caught up in something outrageous, not something dangerous, I didn't bother with words of comfort. Instead, we just exchanged complaints about the solitary cell, then left things until tomorrow and I headed back down to the first floor. I considered telling her what I'd heard from Renisa, but since it would clearly be relayed again once matters with the head butler were settled, I just gave a rough heads-up.
Then, leaving behind the soldiers who were looking back and forth between me—who had practically come right back down the moment I'd gone up—and the surrounding corpses with deeply conflicted expressions, I headed for Ruserik.